


The Mist

by DragonWyrd316



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dialogue Wheel contest, Halloween, M/M, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 11:07:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2545331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonWyrd316/pseuds/DragonWyrd316
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fog creeps in... what could scare a mage enough that the Fade seems friendly in comparison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mist

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a contest hosted by the Dialogue Wheel peeps on Twitter. Requirements were 500 words, spooky themed for Halloween and set somewhere within the Dragon Age world.

The hair stood up on the back of his neck and goosebumps raced over his skin - not so much from the chill in the night air but from the odd way the Keep’s torches were reflected through the dense fog that blanketed the region. The sky was crisp and clear, each star a bright pin-prick in the sky. The full moon added an extra otherworldly glow to the low hanging clouds. Dorian shivered. The fog wouldn’t have been so bad if it were the usual ankle to knee deep swirl that was known to cover the nearby valley from time to time, but this was near shoulder high to him and felt more like a death shroud than a normal act of nature.

“Snap out of it,” he muttered to himself. “By the Maker’s balls, you’re a mage. Things like this shouldn’t spook you so easily.”

A ghostly breeze trailed down his spine, a whimper just barely escaping his lips until he swallowed it back. Dorian’s teeth began to chatter, his shivers increasing.

“Whatever you are, Fade spirit or demon, stop. Just… stop!” The mage growled low, wishing with all his might he could increase his pace back to Skyhold but smart enough to know that to do so could mean severe injury were he to step in just the wrong spot amongst this murky mire.

With each small step he took, the closer he got to the Keep, he began to notice multi-colored balls of light dancing within the fog. If that weren’t bad enough, the sound of children’s laughter bounced around him where he knew no child should be. No matter which way he turned, he could not determine where the sound was coming from.

“You’re not far from Skyhold, Dorian. Just put one foot in front of the other and ignore everything else,” he whispered to himself, hoping the pep talk would work. After what felt like days, though only a half an hour had passed, and the balls of light that would bounce closer and closer to him before disappearing, the laughter becoming louder and yet more distorted, he finally found himself walking through Skyhold’s gates.

“Dorian, Maker, are you all right? You’re almost as pale as freshly fallen snow!” Trevelyan rushed up to his lover, surprised when the mage clung to him with an iron grip, babbling about laughter and colored lights haunting his every step back home.

“Shit. I’m so sorry that scared you, luv. The children around the keep were bored because of the weather so Vivienne and I entertained them with a light festival in the fog. The laughter you heard was some of them running around a safe zone we had set up where they tried to catch a few of the ‘glow bugs’ as they called them.”

“Thank the Maker. I was afraid I had cracked or was stuck in some hellish Fade dream. I think you owe me a drink after this!”


End file.
